


Games we play

by theonsfavouritetoy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: James Bond - Freeform, Jon wears a dress, Light Spanking, M/M, PWP, Roleplay, Switching, asoiafrarepairs, french maid outfit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-05-31 01:43:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15109211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy
Summary: It's Theon's birthday and Jon has let himself be talked into a game. But Theon hasn't thought Jon would embrace his role so fully...





	1. 007

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> If any of you have read the Closeted chapter of my Greysnow/Snowjoy ficlets, you might know the universe in which Jon and Theon have a (not quite) secret relationship and are playing "games". This is another one of them.

Normally Jon hates his face being shaved clean, it makes him look like a pouty girl. But Theon had insisted on it, and now of course Jon knows why. The duct tape covering his mouth is itchy and sticky and tight enough he can only breathe through his nose. Experimentally, Jon flexes his arms, but the cable ties tying his wrists together behind his back don’t give way.

He’s hot, too. The suit he’s wearing, bow tie and all, is thick and warm and he can feel beads of sweat trickling into the collar of his best dress shirt. The chair he’s sitting on must be from the kitchen, comfortable enough when you don’t have your hands tied together behind the backrest. Jon sighs inwardly for probably the fiftieth time. Why did he agree to that again?

“Mr. Bond, we meet at last.”

Jon cringes hard at Theon’s voice. This is so utterly, utterly ridiculous! The light goes on and slowly he lifts his gaze to Theon, sprawled in a chair opposite of him. He’s pretending to stroke an imaginary cat on his arm and Jon really has to try his hardest not to roll his eyes. What a nutjob.

But then his eyes wander down, taking in Theon’s spread legs, the leather of his pants (leather pants, gods be merciful!) stretching tightly over his crotch, and maybe Jon can endure this whole ordeal if it means he’s going to get his hands in there.

Theon clears his throat pointedly, probably waiting for Jon to react. Which is hard when your hands are bound and you have duct tape across your mouth, but Jon still tries to writhe and make muffled noises that can be counted as a reply. Theon laughs, getting up in a graceful motion that draws Jon’s gaze to his legs, damn, and comes over.

“Resistance is futile, Mr. Bond. You are not going to escape this time.”

And despite the huge craziness of all of this, Jon can’t hide the shiver running through him as Theon’s fingers brush his neck, just above the collar of his shirt. He glares up at him, doing his best to look like James Bond would look at his enemy, and it could be Jon’s imagination, but he thinks Theon has shivered too just now.

“You’re in for a world of trouble, Mr. Bond,” Theon whispers, stroking Jon’s curls before abruptly fisting his hand in them and ripping Jon’s head back. It hurts, a little, and the pain goes straight to Jon’s cock. He should really get a new suit, he thinks rather randomly, this one got too tight.

Theon has noticed the growing bulge in Jon’s pants and his eyes glitter. Still holding Jon tightly by his hair, he lets the fingertips of his other hand ghost over Jon’s crotch, making him jump.

“My, my… what _would_ M have to say to that? You being so… eager… to meet your worst enemy…”

The pressure of those deft fingers grows, and now Jon is writhing for real, desperate for his hands to be free, if only to get the duct tape off his mouth.

“Are we getting antsy, Mr. Bond?”

Okay, and maybe punch Theon in the face. Jon mumbles a lot of not very nice curses, muffled and incomprehensible through the tape. Theon lifts his eyebrows and tilts his head, and Jon’s gaze follows the elegant line of his neck, from his shoulders to - what the hell?

There it is again, as if it had never been gone, a small diamond stud sparkling everytime the light catches in it. Jon can’t believe it. All that time it took him to get rid of that thing and now it’s _back???_ His muffled shouting grows louder and angrier, and finally Theon leans in and with a quick pull he rips the tape of Jon’s mouth. And starts laughing.

“Baby, you look like someone has tried to lick your mouth off,” Theon giggles.

Jon, pleased that he didn’t scream when the tape came off, glares at him, but has no time for a nasty remark, because now Theon is thoroughly breaking character, attacking Jon’s poor, mistreated mouth with his own. And although it does hurt, how Theon sucks at his already swollen lips, licking and biting them as if there’s no tomorrow, Jon can’t help noticing how his cock twitches, harder than ever.

When Theon draws back, looking at Jon expectantly, he’s confused for a moment before he remembers their game. Jon clears his throat, hastily searching his brain for the correct name.

“You will never bring me to heel, Dr… Dr…”

“Evil,” Theon mouths before doing a very convincing evil-antagonist-laugh, throwing his head back in a way that shouldn’t be so sexy, really. “You _will_ submit to me, Mr. Bond. I will show you what happens to people who dare to mess with Dr. Evil!”

Theon’s leather pants look like they’ll explode any moment, and seriously, this is starting to resemble Austin Powers in Goldmember rather than James Bond, but Jon dutifully growls and writhes some more - and suddenly his hands come free. Theon must’ve done something behind his back while kissing his lips off. After a moment of consideration, Jon keeps his hands behind him.

He’s got to get back at Theon, for putting him through all of this, and if he uses the element of surprise, this just might work. To thoroughly sidetrack his victim, Jon starts licking his stinging lips in a way he knows drives Theon mad, a little trick he’s used often enough in public, as a punishment when Theon’s douchebag-side gets the better of him. There’s nothing like watching him shiver and stare and writhe in his seat at dinner, unable to do anything with the rest of the family present.

It works like a charm, Theon forgets whatever he was about to say and just gapes, his mouth opening, one of his hands wandering to his crotch. Looking him firmly in the eye, Jon deliberately bites his lower lip and lets it slide free, wet and red and swollen, and Theon moans. Jon jumps at him.

With the suddenness of his attack he has absolutely no problem overpowering his stunned prey, Theon just gasps in shock as Jon shoves him back against his bed, and Jon is over him in a flash, pinning his wrists to the mattress. He grinds his crotch down against Theon’s once, twice, until Theon is moaning so loud Jon grows a little concerned about the neighbours.

“This is how we will play this game, Dr. Evil. My name is Bond, James Bond, and you will pay for all your horrible crimes.”

The confusion is plain on Theon’s face, as Jon starts to tug on his tight pants, slowly dragging them down until they’re off completely, revealing nothing but Theon. Jon’s mouth waters at the sight of Theon’s rock hard cock, aching to just get it into his mouth, or better even, into his arse, but this now is a different game.

Theon, probably expecting Jon to blow him or something like that, groans in confusion as Jon ignores his cock to open his own pants, taking himself in hand. After a couple of quick strokes, Jon suddenly shoves Theon’s thighs apart, spitting on his fingers and rubbing them against Theon’s hole.

The shock on Theon’s face is rewarding, as are the sounds he’s making now, a stream of high pitched, needy moans and bitten-off pleas. They don’t do it like that very often, Theon’s just too embarrassed to ever confess how much he likes being on the bottom sometimes.

“Jon, what…” Theon breaks off with another desperate moan, and Jon grins.

“I’m quite sure there’s no universe where James Bond isn’t doing the fucking.”

And with that he shoves two fingers into Theon, rough and fast, just how Theon will never admit he loves. Jon himself prefers more preparation, more slickness, a smoother glide. Theon likes the pain, the force of it, likes feeling his arse throbbing the whole day, like some battle wound to be proud of.

Jon spreads and curls his fingers, rubbing his knuckles over Theon’s prostate, and Theon nearly breaks his back as he arches off the bed. With one fast move, Jon flips Theon onto his stomach, not pausing before spitting on his hole and shoving his aching cock right in. Theon’s scream of pain and pleasure nearly sends Jon over the edge, but they’re still playing, so he grabs a handful of Theon’s locks and drags his head up.

“This is what happens, Dr. Evil, when you mess with _me._ You forgot, James Bond always wins, and the bad guys get fucked, hard, until they’re too broken to ever challenge me again!”

Theon _sobs_ at hearing this, pressing his crotch against the mattress, and at Jon’s next thrust hitting the right spot he cries out, his body going rigid, his arse clenching around Jon as he comes. It’s more than enough for Jon to let go as well, he buries himself one last time before shooting his load deep inside Theon, collapsing over his still heaving body.

“That’ll teach you to mess with 007,” Jon murmurs against Theon’s sweaty neck, smiling as Theon gasps softly again. “But since it is your birthday, Dr. Evil…” Jon moves so Theon has space to turn around, “I might be prevailed upon to let you go if you promise me I’ll never have to wear that suit again.”

Not that it would be even possible, the jacket is crumbled, the shirt a sweat-soaked, stained mess, and the trousers… They were too tight anyway, so good riddance.

Theon turns around, his face tear-streaked as always when he got fucked, his smile wide and soft. “Actually,” he mumbles, mouth searching Jon’s for a deep kiss before continuing. “Actually I thought about a different game for the next time. No suit required.”

Jon wipes his thumb over Theon’s cheekbone, kissing him again. “So you didn’t like it, then? Me in a suit?”

“Fucking loved it,” Theon mumbles, eyes falling shut. “Loved all of it.”

That’s as much as he’ll ever get out of him, so Jon settles down, resting his face on Theon’s shoulder. They should get up, undress, shower, then dress again before the rest comes home from their family day out. But he likes it so much, just lying together while their heartbeats calm down and drum in sync.

A thought flashing through his mind brings Jon back from the brink of sleep.

“Theon?”

“Hmmmm?”

“That earring is going to be flushed down the toilet, diamond or not.”

Theon opens a sleepy eye and regards Jon with something like nervousness.

“Actually, I thought I’d sell it. Should bring enough for-” He coughs, a faint red creeping into his cheeks. “Shut up and don’t annoy me, Snow.”

Closing his eyes, Jon snuggles closer, smiling as he drifts off into sleep.


	2. Please, Sir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested by @soxmax, thank you :)
> 
> Er... and now excuse me while I go be embarrassed.

One of his better ideas, Theon thinks as he peers over the edge of the newspaper he’s holding. From his place in the large armchair he has a perfect view. Black skirts rustling, ending just below the arse, his little maid is dusting the bookshelves thoroughly with the huge feather duster Theon had bought from some ostrich farm. Fucking expensive, but bloody worth it. 

The top shelf is high up, and Theon grins as the maid stands on tiptoes and stretches to reach it. The movement is just enough for the dress to shift, revealing two round peachy globes, like perfect scoops of vanilla ice cream. Theon swallows. They’ve just started like, ten minutes ago, and he’s already hard and barely able to hold himself back. 

I’m really a lucky bastard, he thinks as he imagines how those pert cheeks will feel under his hands, how he will bite them, lick them, and finally  _ spread _ them - Theon shifts, his straining cock making a clearly visible tent in his robe. Another of those investments that have more than paid off. Jon loves it when Theon wears it, it makes him forget his shyness, drives him to do things...

It’s a long morning robe, dark red silk with golden embroidery all over. When Theon wears it he feels like some fancy lord out of a novel, which is only fitting since Jon looks like something out of a cheap adult film for fetishists. His outfit had been cheap too, black little dress, frilly apron and the white little head thingy Theon has no idea what it’s called. Looks good on Jon’s dark hair though, so who cares. 

Now Jon is balancing precariously on a little footstool to reach the top edge with the duster. So Jon, Theon thinks, laying the newspaper aside with a lot of rustling, so Jon to take this serious and really dust instead of only pretending to. At the crinkling sound of the paper the feather duster stops mid-move and Jon glances over his shoulder, seemingly anxious.

“Sir?” he asks, voice sounding questioning and a little scared, and Theon’s cock jumps at the word. “Sir, is everything alright? Did I do something wrong?”

Smiling, Theon shakes his head. “You’re doing well, my dear. But I think the shelves are good now. There’s a stain in the carpet over there, I want you to take care of that before you start polishing the cabinet.”

Jon nods and hops down from the stool, laying the duster aside and smoothing out his skirt with both hands. He goes over to the little trolley with the cleaning supplies and picks a brush and some carpet shampoo. Theon holds his breath as Jon drops to his knees on the carpet. This is one of his favourite parts, Jon on all fours showing off his sweet butt again, already in a perfect position to… Theon shakes his head. Not yet. 

But as Jon starts vigorously scrubbing at the chocolate stain Rickon had caused yesterday, his dark curls swaying back and forth, his arse going up and down, Theon can’t help himself anymore. With a quiet moan he takes himself in hand, slowly stroking his length beneath the robe. Jon freezes, shivering slightly, and turns his head, looking over his shoulder at Theon again. 

Fuck, Theon thinks, the boy is a born actor. His cheeks are red, his eyes huge and startled, his voice quivering as he speaks, scandalized and a little breathless.

“Sir..?” Jon’s eyes drop to Theon’s hand moving beneath the silk. “Sir! Are you… are you watching me?”

“Why yes, of course, my dear. Have to make sure you’re doing a proper job, right?”

“Of… of course, Sir,” Jon murmurs, tugging his hair behind his ears as he casts his gaze down, returning to his task.

It could be his imagination running ahead, but Theon is quite sure Jon bends down even more now, arching his back to give Theon a perfect look at his buttocks, parting slightly at this angle. Theon moans, speeding up the movement of his hand. Not long now.

Jon scrubs at the carpet a lot longer than Theon thinks is necessary, probably quite deliberately tormenting him. This, he decides, requires a punishment. Abandoning his cock, Theon casts one last long look at Jon’s arse, white and flawless - at least until he’ll be done with him - before pointedly clearing his throat. 

“I think you can move on to polishing now,” he says, voice low and suggestive. “The cabinet looks matted.”

He can see Jon shivering as he gets up, dropping the brush into a bucket and grabbing the polish. Glancing at Theon from under his lashes he fucking  _ curtsies _ and Theon nearly loses it right then and there, gripping the armrests of his chair to stay put. 

“Yes, Sir,” the cheeky brat mumbles shyly, “as you please, Sir.” 

And with a little swing of his hips he turns and walks over to Cat’s beloved mahogany cabinet, an heirloom from her grandmother. If only she knew… Well, Theon thinks, not feeling guilty at all, at least it gets thoroughly polished. Meanwhile Jon has unscrewed the bottle and the warm scent of beeswax fills the room. Carefully he lets some drops fall on a rag and starts rubbing it into the surface in neat circles.

Theon gets up from his chair, slowly making his way over until he’s standing right behind Jon, who goes rigid as he senses Theon’s presence. 

“There’s a spot you missed,” Theon says, reaching out to point at the far corner if the cabinet. To get to it, Jon would have to walk around. Or bend over. He bends over. The skirt shifts up and there they are in all their naked glory. 

“You naughty girl,” Theon drawls, and Jon gasps. “You’re not even wearing anything beneath that inappropriately short dress! You know what happens to naughty girls, do you?”

Jon doesn’t look back, but Theon knows his cheeks are glowing right now and he’s biting his lip before answering. “No, S-Sir. What will happen to me now?”

For a second Theon regrets that he’s not wearing a nice, hard leather belt instead of the soft one holding his robe together. He could let it smack against these inviting pearly rounds, watch angry welts forming on them, until they’re purple and sore. And Jon would squirm in his seat tonight at dinner and glare at Theon with his dark eyes…

This’ll have to do, he thinks, and smacks Jon’s right buttock with the flat of his hand, hard enough to leave a red spot, his hand perfectly outlined on the white skin. Jon jumps, crying out, and Theon hurries to let a second smack land exactly where the first one got, to hear it again. 

This time Jon’s cry sounds bitten off, like he’s digging his teeth into his bottom lip to stop himself from screaming out. Theon hates that he cannot see his face right now. To compensate his anger he lets two blows fall to Jon’s left butt cheek, in quick succession, harder than before, and Jon wails. 

“Please, Sir!”

Theon knows all too well what Jon is pleading for now, he nearly gives in, already searching his pocket for the lube - a glorious thought flickers through his mind, and instead of going ahead with the usual routine he starts smacking Jon’s arse with one hand while the other closes around his cock and he starts jerking off. 

Jon’s cries take on a different shade, dark and guttural, he whimpers after every slap, stammering, “Sir,” so helpless and needy Theon knows he won’t last, neither of them will. 

“I won’t fuck you now, you dirty girl, you haven’t earned it! Tell you what, for your shameless, lusty behaviour I will punish you. Tomorrow you will clean my room, thoroughly, but you will  _ not  _ wear this slutty little dress, only the apron, and I will watch every one of your moves and if you make the tiniest mistake, overlook the tiniest spot, I’ll let you taste my belt, understood?”

One last, hard smack and Jon goes rigid, moaning so loud Theon feels the sound vibrate through him, his orgasm crashes through him and he paints Jon’s reddened butt with his come, shuddering as he wrings the last drops from his cock. 

When he’s seeing clearly again, Theon notices that Jon still hasn’t moved, he hears a sniffing sound and immediately panic is all he feels. 

“Jon? Jon, baby, are you alright? Did I hurt you? Jon, talk to me-”

He drags him up, around and against his chest, terrified of having gone too far. Jon frees his head from Theon’s grasp, his cheeks are tear-streaked and his mouth pulled down in a pitiful frown.

“I’ve come on the cabinet,” he hiccups, inconsolable. “Catelyn’s cabinet! Don’t laugh!!” he shouts, glaring at Theon with his wet eyes. 

“Oh, Snow…” Theon chuckles once again, barely able to speak with relief that Jon is okay, that he’s not gonna stop their game because Theon was too hard on him, that he liked it. “You’ll just grab this cloth and a little polish -  _ ouch!!!! _ ”

Jon has boxed him in the stomach and is now stalking away, the frilly thing on his head sitting lopsided on his bristling curls, his dress still rucked up, showing his bright red, come smeared arse. 

“You do that, Greyjoy,” is the last thing Theon hears.  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Should you happen to have any more ideas for roleplay games between those two, I'm all ears :)


End file.
